


Down the Barrel of a Gun

by mgmercieca



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/M, bonnie and clyde au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgmercieca/pseuds/mgmercieca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Kastle Bonnie and Clyde AU, because I am trash and because you all deserve it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Barrel of a Gun

Looking back, Karen didn’t mean for it to happen like this. She numbly watched the blood seep out of the body in front of her, warm tears flowing quietly down her face, and lowered the gun. She had once heard that killing takes part of your soul, every time you do it. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, it was the only way now. She thought back to when the dark corners of the city loomed over her like monsters in the shadows. A smile bloomed on the corner of her lips as she figured that now, she just might be the monster.

She felt Frank behind her before she saw him, felt his hand move to grip her waist in the dark – almost to the point of pain. His warm breath huffed on the crook of her neck, raising goosebumps there. His hand trailed down her arm, to where she held the gun at her hip. For most people, their hands might have been shaking, a cold sweat blooming on their lower back. Not her, not anymore. He pried the gun from her hand, tucking it away. She knew where – the inside of his jacket. She knew she could take it back from him, but instead she turned around and breathed heavy into his mouth. His eyes burned down at her with a certainty that set her on fire. He grabbed her again, crushing her to his chest, and kissed her so hard she was left gasping in minutes. She grasped at his jacket, at his shirt, at his bare chest. Her fingers brushed over the gun, and she smiled against his lips. She pulled back, just enough that she could look into his eyes.

“With me. Stay with me,” he rasped, so close she felt his warm breath rush over her face.

The sound of multiple vehicles reached their ears, followed by the sound of sirens surrounding the warehouse they stood in, bringing a cold rush of air and raising the hairs on Karen’s arms. He smiled again, a feral expression, and grasped her hand as he pulled her back into the darkness. They slip away, just as they always do – high on the blood, high on the narrow escape, high on each other’s breath.

The reality of this life was a constant chase – back and forth, back and forth; between the cops, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, sorry, _Matt_ , Karen thought with a smirk. It was always the same – under the shadows that the city provided at night, they would kill the killers, the worst that the kitchen had to offer, and by day they would run, constantly moving. Come to think of it, Karen couldn’t remember the last time she had simply sat anywhere long enough to take a full breath – at least one that wasn’t breathed into Frank's mouth.

She remembered the time before this started, before she joined Frank. Sitting at a lonely desk, first at Murdock and Nelson and then at the Bulletin. In her mind, there wasn’t much difference between the two. At both of them, she was lied to, mistreated, kept in the dark. She had been kept in the dark so long that she wanted to scream, every thought she had consumed with fighting against the overwhelming tide taking over the Kitchen – a tide she felt increasingly helpless against. She was tired of being helpless, of being lied to. So she ran to the one person who had never lied to her, who had never treated her incapable. Even after Matt’s revelation, which, if she were being honest with herself, she had known all along – it wasn’t enough to make up for the months of lies, of being treated like a snuffed candle in the darkness. It was simple enough, the place she lived was being slowly swallowed in a tide of ever growing shit, and she couldn’t stand it for a minute longer. She left her life behind and followed the Punisher – the only path for her all along, really.

The first few times had been impossible – leaving her shaking in Frank’s arms, the blood that covered her soaking into his shirt and staining his arms. He whispered what she already knew, what they had silently agreed upon when she had first come to him – a repeated mantra of the sort that he must have gained from his time in the army. That sometimes taking a life would save a thousand more. They had only killed the worst of the kitchen – the rapists, the serial killers, the drug lords. Once she got past the initial bile that rose up in her throat at the sight of the dead and battered forms at her hands, once she had spent enough time in Frank’s arms, with his lips murmuring at her ear, once she learned to think how the Punisher did – it was almost too easy.

Or, it had been, until she had shot a police officer that had come too close one night.

It was a normal night. They were cornering a minor mob member who had murdered an entire family the night before. With Karen’s influence, they had only been killing after it was warranted. She wouldn’t kill anyone unless they had done something to deserve it. In her mind, it set to rights the little voice, _Matt’s voice_ , she heard every time she pulled the trigger.

She placed her hand on Frank’s shaking one to settle him. She knew this particular case would leave him rattled, with it ringing much too close to home.

“Get on the ground, shitbag, now,” Frank seethed. He hardly ever lost the chilling calm that was constantly over him. She had only seen it slip a handful of times, and tried not to read too much into the thrill of pride that came with the thought. It only happened when he was encountered with his past, with his family, and whenever her safety was in question.

They both circled the man, as his eyes darted around the dark warehouse, flitting between her lithe form and Frank’s shadowed one. They had been careful, as always, and ensured that no one would interrupt. But something went wrong, and the red and blue lights swirled around the darkness before they could move another inch.

The man stood up, pulling a gun from somewhere on his form, and fired in Frank’s direction. It hit him in the shoulder, sending Frank back with a painful jerk. Karen fired her own gun, and a lone officer ran into the warehouse just in time to take her bullet to the stomach. He went down with a heavy thud and a muted cry, and Karen probably would have lain next to his lifeless form all night if Frank hadn’t picked her up and pushed her away and into the night.

The night air stung her face, drying her tears so more could follow. Frank said nothing, pushed her into a car and started driving. She didn't know where, she could only feel the guilt ripping her open, leaving her insides for the world to see. Blood seeped from Frank's shoulder as he drove, but he made no acknowledgement of it, not even the smallest grunt of pain. Perhaps he didn't even feel it - it wouldn't surprise her, though it would have to be taken care of later. She couldn't believe that she was able to process all of this with the searing pain eating its way to her heart, the ever-growing guilt threatening to eat her alive if she didn't focus on something else.

They pulled up on a darkened street, where Frank got out and shuffled her out of the car. The silence that usually settled between them like a warm comfort was now ripping her apart. He gripped her waist, pushing her up a dark staircase and into a dark room. She could make out nothing more than a bedside table, and a mattress bearing a set of crumpled blankets. He sat her down, and paused, standing over her like an imposing mountain range. Uncertainty twisted his features in the moonlight that streamed through the window, an odd look on his stoic face.

He breathed heavily, and sat down next to her. It wasn't until then that the sobs, which had been sitting in the back of her throat, choking her, came ripping out of her throat with a violent ferocity. Tears flooded down her face, and she curled into herself, ripping streams of blood down her arms with her own nails. Frank wasted no time, grabbing her and unfurling her with his hands. He pulled her to him, that crushing resilience again, as if he could absorb her pain if he only pulled her close enough.

His strong hands moved to her face, where tears still streamed down her reddened cheeks, and looked into her eyes. Her breathing picked up, panic choking her now, and he saw it in her eyes before she had the chance to lose herself in it.

"Hey, baby - no, no. Stop. We'll get through this. Together."

She swallowed, hard, and some of the panic went back down her throat like a shot of hard liquor, stinging as it moved further down. With her eyes still full of tears, she touched his shoulder, which was still bleeding onto the mattress beneath them. She looked at her own hands, at all of the blood there. They were stained a violent red, shining in the moonlight. With one of them, she touched Frank's chest, and he crushed his lips to her own. She melted underneath him, pain blending with pleasure as she moved to take off his shirt. She ran her hands over his bare chest, over the stream of blood flowing from his shoulder. He gently pushed up her shirt, taking off layer after layer until she lay exposed underneath him. He pulled her in, against his bare chest, shrouding her in his warmth, and reached a hand between them to brush up against her clit, making her gasp into his mouth.

She climbed on top of him, relishing in the wonderful numbness that this brought to her brain. The pain, while still there, was hidden for the moment in the dark recesses of her mind. He filled her up, gasping along with her, letting her light fill the room. Frank Castle allowed himself very few steps into the light, but she was one of them.

They entangled themselves in the dirty sheet beneath them, his arms wrapped protectively around her. She opened her eyes and looked up at his lovely, strong face, and felt his eyes cover every inch of her in certainty. He looked away, and then back at her. With a silent nod of his head, their fate was sealed. There would be no turning back from tonight.

The next weeks were a blur of blood and running. Her accident had opened up a floodgate, sending all of the cops in New York that hadn't been on their trail before into a blur of fury, all of it focused on seeing them both dead. She saw it in Frank's eyes, just as she had always known that he was fighting for his own kind of honor code, she knew now that he had broken it. For her. His focused and terrifying fury, which before had been focused on the criminals of the city, had now shifted to keeping them out of custody. She had lost track of how many times she had seen her own bullets striking the pursuing bodies behind them, watching blood spread over the familiar blue uniform. The bile she had been able to keep in the back of her throat before now worked its way up, forcing her to vomit up the little she had managed to eat that day. 

The only comfort was Frank, his unyielding form beneath her fingers every night, his warmth seeping into her cold bones. They settled into the bed of yet another seedy motel, praying for a night of peace, uninterrupted by sirens or pursuing vehicles. They lay in the dark, grasping onto each other much too tightly. The only thing that stopped tears from leaking out of her eyes was the hard warmth of Frank's chest under her palms - his steady gaze revealing only the slightest hint of fear. He looked at her as fiercely as he always had, too much love for his own good seeping into his expression. He crushed her to him, and she didn't feel any of the pain, only him. 

They were on the road, the stolen car drifting along over the holes in the road beneath them, when they passed a small, run-down diner. Frank quirked up the side of his mouth in the first sign of a smile he had given in weeks. Karen didn't miss it, her own tired eyes finding his, her swollen lips lifting up into the smallest of smirks. Should they chance it? Probably not, there were posters bearing their faces covering every inch of the city, blaring from every news broadcast that had run for weeks. People would know their faces. But damn, if they didn't miss coffee, if they didn't desperately need the simple pleasure of sitting in a diner together, eating food composed of grease and sugar, and forget the blood dripping from their hands for just a minute. 

Frank didn't hesitate as he pulled the car over, hidden out of sight behind the diner. His hand lay on the small of her back as they walked toward the doors, like they weren't the most wanted couple in the country, like they were just any other couple, out at a normal diner. It didn't manage to take away the bloody loop of memories that was perpetually playing behind Karen's eyes, but it succeeded in allowing the smallest touch of comfort to reach her heart. But she was tired, bone tired, and she knew it couldn't go on like this. And even if Frank would never stop killing the people who tried to hurt her, would never stop protecting her, she knew he was tired too.

She settled into a booth across from him, the cracked leather under her legs scratching her skin, and watched his eyes lighten for the first time in a long time. His eyes still darted every so often out toward the road, visible outside of the large window, his ears perked endlessly for the first pitch of a siren approaching down the road. But for once, they let themselves be together. He ordered a coffee, looking the waitress right in the eyes despite the fact that she might recognize him at any moment. Karen ordered pancakes, salivating over them when they arrived. Eating hadn't been an easy task - trying to force food over the massive hump of guilt firmly stuck in her throat had been impossible. But seeing the light in Frank's eyes as he watched her smile over the food was enough to allow her to enjoy herself, if only for the moment. He took her hand on the table's cold surface, a surprisingly sweet gesture from him, and she looked up at him with a smile despite herself. Somewhere along the way, the silence between them had lessened in its pain, had become comfortable again. She sighed contentedly, breathing in the sticky sweet smell of syrup and the tang of oil fill the air, feeling his rough hand in hers. He ran his blistered thumb over her palm, and she kissed him. For once, he let it go on, as sweet as a summer day. The waitress smiled as she refilled his coffee cup, and Karen smiled at Frank, at the wonderful man in front of her. No matter what happened, she knew, no one could ever take away how much she loved him. They could kill her, she wouldn't care. As long as she had him. As long as he was okay. 

They drove to another motel that night, faint smiles still on their faces, the moment from the diner dragging on to manifest in an easy peace between them. They gave the motel teller a set of fake names, avoiding eye contact when he peered at them more closely - their practiced routine carried out over weeks on the road. Her realization, and acceptance of their time running low, seemed to have occurred in him as well. They kept close to each other as they walked up the dimly lit staircase, the cold night air nipping at their faces. They entered the room, a standard seedy motel room, which they had grown accustomed to, and wasted no time in laying down together. Karen wrapped her arms around Frank's waist, and he buried his hands in her hair. She calmed herself by focusing on his breath, as his chest moved against hers. 

"You know, I think meeting you, it was my second chance." He muttered, close to her ear. It would have made her shiver, if she weren't so warm against him. 

"You already had that. You didn't need me." 

His expression barely shifted, but he took in a breath sharply at her statement, and looked into her eyes. 

"Bullshit, sweetheart. I'll always need you."

She smiled, and kissed him deeply, letting her hands roam underneath his shirt. His breathing picked up as she moved closer to him, until any space there may have been between them seemed to close. The dark room lit up with blue and red lights, and they both froze. They knew it was coming, were ready for it, even. But it still felt like a blow to the heart. 

"This is the NYPD. You're surrounded. Come out willingly, or we will use force!"

Karen pulled back; she lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. Whatever she needed in that moment, courage or love or fulfillment, she found as he stared back at her. He gripped her arms to the point of pain, bringing his forehead to hers, and pulled them up together. 

He kissed her once more, a deep, passionate thing, which was only broken when she pulled back with a small sob. He grabbed her hand, looking at her again, before they walked together out on the balcony. 

She never let go of his hand, even as the bullets ripped through them both, bringing blood and screams. The small courtyard was violently lit up by flood-lights, illuminating Frank's face as he fell. Distantly, she thought of Romeo and Juliet, dying together at the hands of some unfair fate granted to them both. She almost laughed, blood bubbling up in her mouth as the bullets crashed all around them.

They fell together to the hard balcony floor, her last thought to look to his face, taking in every feature.

"Baby-" he muttered, even as blood flowed up between his lips, but his mouth quirked up in a grisly smile. The blood seeped out of her, flooding the stone white ground beneath them, and she closed her eyes. 

 

 

 


End file.
